


Gasoline on my clothes, ashes in my wake

by silentGambler



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Heavy Angst, Jason Todd is Robin, M/M, Near Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-11 19:44:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5639662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentGambler/pseuds/silentGambler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce gets Jason out of that warehouse alive, but barely. The boy that lives is not the one who almost died and Bruce doesn't know what to do, what to say, to keep his son from falling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An AU I've been planning for a bit. Hope you like it!

Jason can't breathe.

He knows he's trying to gulp down air, but his lungs feel like they are on fire. His body is– well, he can't feel a thing. Or maybe he's feeling so much that he can't quite focus on a single thing. He can't really tell if his eyes are open or not, and some part of him knows that he should be worried about it.

He thinks he can hear someone whispering, but they are too far away. And Jason can't move anyway. Just try to keep breathing. _Why can't he feel a thing?_

The loud ringing in his ears finally lets something break through and it makes everything snap into place. The burning on his skin and the fire in his chest and the pain, _god_ , the pain. It hits him all of a sudden and he wishes he could go back to not feeling. But the voice is getting stronger.

It's Bruce.

Shouting at him.

But he can't be here, the Joker was here. The Joker rigged the whole place with explosives. Jason wants to beat himself for not forseeing that, except his body feels like he was already beaten over and over _and_ –

Jason can't see Bruce. He can't really understand what he's saying either, but he can hear his tone. His desperation.

It must be something very bad if Bruce is freaking out.

Well, it was already bad enough wasn't it? He disobeyed. He found the Joker, or rather the Joker found him. The Joker blew the whole place up. So why is he still here? Someone –Bruce, it's really Bruce here, _with him_ – is gathering him up in their arms and carrying him somewhere. Why aren't his eyes working? And _fuck_ , where is his mother? Where is the Joker? He needs his eyes, needs to see Bruce and his mother are ok, needs to apologize, needs to cry, he needs–

Bruce –please let it be Bruce– holds him tight. His voice is fading and he wants to panic, but the pain is gone too and maybe it's not that bad. He can hear Bruce call out to him from far, so far, and he wishes he could call back.

Jason thinks he might be dying. Or maybe he's already dead.

 

* * *

 

The burns cover part of his left side and most of his back, bleeding and oozing over the dirt and soot in them. They may still have shrapnel buried inside, but Jason is too far gone –probably in shock– that he can't feel them. His eyes are shut now, but Bruce can still remember the milky, strange texture of Jason’s right eye and know that he won't be able to save it.

He's not even sure he can still save his son.

Bruce turns when Alfred comes into de room, doctors at his heel. He steps aside as they rush around Jason, taking his place beside the butler. This is far more than they can handle and that just makes it more serious. He feels like everything is moving too fast. Jason was angry and before Bruce could even do anything he was gone, chasing what turned out to be a dead end. He should have know, should have looked harder for Robin. He can't do any of that now, it's done.

He just wants him to be alive. He wants his son to be alright.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything feels so wrong.

It takes whole days of work, but finally Jason is stable enough to give the doctors a rest. He's hooked to machines and IV drops, propped onto pillows to keep him upright. And he looks horrible, barely alive. The burns are clean now and any invasive metal is out, the raw molten flesh clashing sickly with the too-pale skin. He is far from being alright. He's deep in sleep, the doctors only able to do exams on him now they are sure his vitals are somewhat stable.

They bring back bad news and slightly better ones.

(Bruce tells himself it could be worse. He tries very hard not to think Jason would, maybe, be better off- No. He doesn't want him gone, not in a thousand lives. They'll make it through.)

 

* * *

 

He wakes up only because he can feel his lungs on fire.

Jason tries to yell but only manages a gurgle and a gasp. He claws at the bedsheets and finds that pain shoots up his left arm and his back protests. Some parts of his skin feel as if it were tight plastic stretching over muscles and bones.

It feels wrong. So very _wrong_.

He tries to scream again but only a whine comes out. His throat doesn't feel right, it's numb in a way that is telltale of medicine. Did someone knock him out and brought him here? Where the fuck is even _here_? He remembers Bruce and the Joker– but everything else is blurry. As it his memories were there and all he has to do is reach for them.

His head might start to hurt even more if this goes on.

He finally opens his eyes, but there is something covering his right eye. He tries stretching his fingers again to try and tear off whatever is blocking his sight, but he can only twitch them a bit and receives more pain. Jason hears a machine somewhere on his right beep faster and faster as his heartbeats pick up their pace. He desperately wants to scream.

Bruce and what looks like a small army of doctors appear at the door, looking exhausted, worried and relieved all at once. One of the medics checks the machines around the bed and the other two check on him. He hears Bruce sigh heavily from the end of the bed but doesn't see him as the doctor shines a light into his eyes.

"Jason." his names comes out in a soothing voice and he tries to talk again ignoring the pain as best as he can, making pathetic gurgles in the back of his throat. "Don't do that, you'll hurt yourself."

'What is wrong with me?' he wants to ask, and Bruce seems to read his anxious expression. Still, he glances at Alfred and seems to brace himself before talking.

"You... were in an explosion." Jason suddenly feels sicker. "Do you remember the warehouse?" He does. He can't say if it would be worse not to remember. All of a sudden he can hear in the back of his mind a dull, wet 'thud' of metal on bloodied flesh and the horrible sound of bones cracking inside. His breath hitches and his skin pricks.

Bruce keeps talking but it sounds so far away now, he is still vaguely aware of what he's saying. Jason hadn't even tried to touch the bandages all over himself but now he knows what to expect, knows why his skin feels thick and weird in places. He lifts his right arm, the one that seems better (if you can call possibly broken 'better'), and gestures as best as he can to his eye and to his throat.

It's one if the doctors who answers instead of his guardian. "Your vocal chords are severely damaged. It could be due to trauma or injury. Still... damage could be temporal. In the best case scenario, you could be talking after some time, although we can't be sure you'll regain full use of your voice. Your cords took a great damage." The man pauses and shoots an apologetic glance to Jason. "Worst case... well... you won't be able to talk."

They didn't need to tell him out loud. He hopes he can move his hands soon so at least he'll have some way to communicate.

"Jason, you need to stay in bed." Bruce half-heartedly warns, even though both of them know he can't go anywhere. It's a subtle way of saying 'no patrol' too, Jason guesses, in case he gets any wild ideas. Not that Bruce would even consider it. "You are in no shape to be moving around."

He clicks his tongue (which is somewhat calming, being able to produce a proper sound) and gestures again to his face. 'What's wrong with my eye? Is it healing too?' He can feel the doctors grow tense and a heavy weight sets on his stomach. Jason gestures more insistently, ignoring the pain it sends up his arm.

"Your eye... we couldn't do anything to save it. It was damaged from some kind of blunt weapon and from the explosion. By the time we got you here, it was already a lost cause." Bruce tries to explain as calmly as he can, but Jason can hear his strained tone and still feels nauseous. It's not just that his eye is covered up, it's useless now.

He feels exhausted by the news. Or maybe is the medicine kicking in. He doesn't fight it, just let's his eyes drift closed as he listens to Bruce talking to the doctors. He remembers that too, from the warehouse: the low, distant voice telling him to stay, to wake up.

Maybe this is all a too-real nightmare and he'll wake up soon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What doesn't kill you gives you nightmares

Jason wakes slowly, almost gently, blinking at the dark room. He groans and his whole body aches so much he can't even move, which makes him wary. He tries to remember where he is, but his mind is clouded, hazy with something other than sleep. Maybe that is what is keeping him from speaking too, he reasons, but a sense of dread settles in his stomach. A beeping somewhere on his right quickens and his mind supplies him with red numbers blinking down to zeros and a cold, cold warehouse about to blow and Bruce far, too far away to reach him.

His breath is coming in gasps now even as he tries to control himself and think clearly. Jason tries to turn his head to see the source of the beeping, because it's absurdly dark on that side, but a painful stab in his temple stops him. His chest hurts but he can't tell if it's panic or his lungs or his ribs or everything else. Jason needs to get out of there, but ropes and wire are biting into him. He can see them glistening in the dark, digging into his skin, strangling any chance to escape. There's laughter ringing in his ears, a maniac cackle that makes him freeze in panic.

He screams. An actual sound ripping his throat, raw and loud enough to drown the explosion he's sure will follow.

Jason jerks back to reality at the sound of his own screaming and in what feels like seconds there's light pooling into the room and men around him trying to shut him down and he can't understand why they are there. Where is the fire eating at his flesh? His heart hammers in his chest as a man tries to pull away his arms. The Joker hadn't brought any of his thugs to beat him up ever, why now? Was that a mock bomb? It had been just him when he closed his eyes. Just Jason and that clown. Someone's fingers are tugging at his lips and he wants to bite down on them, but they move before he can. There's a pair of hands on his neck that feel like they're trying to choke him or hold him down, he doesn't care, either one means he's dying.

Jason is running out of breath, his throat feels like he just swallowed glass, and there's laughter filling the room. Hysterical, almost sounding like sobs. He opens his eyes (he didn't even noticed when he closed them) to find something, _anything_ , that could help him get away. To break out of the ropes. To break the Joker's neck. He finds Bruce instead, holding his face and calling out to him. Telling him everything is ok. Jason tries to breathe, to steady himself. The rope and wire is gone, it's only medical tubes; the men are not thugs but doctors and Batman – _Bruce_ – is here. It was a dream, a nightmare. Nothing more than that but Jason can't quite stop shaking, half expecting to wake up yet again.

The laughter subsides slowly as he calms down and he realizes that the laugh-sobs were his. He doesn't know if he should be shocked at all.

(Many months later he'll wonder if that was the moment he first thought he'd be better off not getting back his voice. If it was, he somewhat got his wish in the end.)

He can feel the damp trails on his cheeks and knows he's crying, but he has no energy left to try and wipe the tears or hide his face away from the doctors. He just lets himself fall back onto the pillows, gasping and holding onto Bruce's hand like a lifeline. The doctors are silent, but B is murmuring soothing words that help him find his ground even if he can't make half of them out. His presence is more than enough. The knowledge that Bruce is here, with him, and that he's not alone in some burning warehouse is all it takes to keep him together for now.

Somewhere deep down he feels vaguely embarrassed of how childish he's acting, how easily comforted he is by the voice of his father, but the sheer relief he feels is enough to keep it down. Jason leans into Bruce's hand when it carefully brushes away his hair from his face, pressing his cheek despite the sting of his skin under the gauze. His throat hurts too much and he can't –won't– make himself try to talk again, but he mouths a ' _please don't leave_ ' and even though it's selfish (Gotham, Jason thinks, already takes too much from him and he's just taking more), Bruce nods in silence and presses his hand softly on top of his head. He can see Alfred somewhere between the doctors and them, lips pursed into a thin line and brow deeply furrowed in concern.

' _Please_ ' Jason mouths and wonders if Gotham will make him pay for making Batman ignore her tonight.

(She does. She always does.)

 

* * *

 

 

Timothy Drake prides himself in being patient. It takes lots of patience and practice to please his parents, after all. And he has learned well, he knows when to talk, when to listen, when to watch, when to act. He has it down to an art, he'd even dare to say. He wouldn't have been able to follow Batman and Robin otherwise. Which is why he has every right to be worried. So much time watching someone lets him know what to expect. And he knows Batman's patterns by now.

Something happened. He can tell something is wrong.

For several nights now he has seen Batman become progressively erratic. No, more than that: he's _vicious_. Almost as if he were barely holding himself back against his enemies. Tim has seen it himself, through both lenses and his own eyes. Batman is practically seething when he comes down onto criminals, his moves too harsh. And it only takes a couple of nights to notice his sidekick is nowhere to be seen. He had thought he might have been just missing him, but Tim is sure now, Just thinking about it again makes his stomach drop.

Robin is gone. Missing. Fallen.

He tried telling himself there could be a perfectly good explanation, but deep down something tells him there's none. Batman transforming into a raging shadow and Robin disappearing is in no way a coincidence, that is clear to him. But he needs to know more. He needs an explanation. And as much as he'd love going up to Batman and demand one, he needs other ways. He will be as patient as he needs to be.

Tim doesn't know how to feel when the news are delivered to him days later, not exactly in the way he expected. The front page of the newspaper tells of an attack to the Wayne family and he scrambles to pull open the pages, eyes scanning for it. A kidnap, a bomb in a warehouse outside the city. A heroic rescue, it says, which allowed the boy to survive. Tim feels dizzy as he slumps against the chair in the kitchen.

Jason Todd is alive.

Robin is alive.

The weight in his chest lifts a bit, even if it's far from gone. The news tell nothing of his condition, which just makes him think that Bruce Wayne hadn't let out any of this information himself. The paper crinkles in Tim's grip without him noticing, too deep in thought as he is. Batman is noticeably affected by this and Tim can't blame him, but he's going down a road he knows he'll regret if – _when_ , he corrects himself, horrified for a second– Jason gets back on his feet. His mind is rushing, trying to come up with some way to talk to... To any of them, really. Be it Batman or Bruce Wayne, Tim needs him to see what he's becoming.

Gotham needs Batman. Batman needs a Robin to balance him out. It's as simple as that. 

Somehow Tim can't quite shake off the feeling that he's offending Jason by going to Bruce. As if he's waiting for him to be gone to take his place. He shudders at the thought and grips the newspaper tighter. He wouldn't dare to try and replace Jason, not in this lifetime or any other. He pushes the thought to the back of his mind. As he sets the paper on the table and smooths it down to give his hands something to do while he schemes, he wonders if he'll be able to see Jason once he gets to the manor. He figures it would be for the best if he didn't. Timothy is not sure he can handle seeing Jason like that, much less if he's there just to tell Bruce he needs a Robin. It feels like spitting in his face.

He will get another chance to see Jason, he tells himself, when he gets better. Or so Tim hopes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, this story hasn't been abandoned in case anyone was wondering. I have the next chapter half done and bits and pieces of the next ones after that, but I haven't been able to edit and upload them. I'm not going to promise a date for the update, but I wanted people to know that I AM planning to continue this story. I didn't want to make a new chapter just to put this note up, so thanks for reading and being patient.


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